Their Secret
by babyfungus
Summary: TROYELLA. Gabriella's life changes forever when she's saved from drowning in a lake by a tattooed, blue-eyed asshole.
1. Prologue

**Their Secret**

Water was a secret between them. Maybe.

She liked water, Gabriella did. Water was peaceful and sensual, always ready to consume her – and everything else – when she wanted. Water was pure, cold and hot, slippery. It was simple, but there was a fascinating beauty to it. Water was adoptive, warm and welcoming. It slipped through her fingers sneakily when she poked it with them, it splashed cataclysmically in every direction when she dived into it, it glittered magnificently – and obediently – under the sun's glare, it didn't complain even once when she cut into it with her body in graceful strokes and arcs. That was just water's nature.

Water was docile. She could control water, and control it, she did. She liked it too. She could feel it with her tongue, and her body and her hands and her senses. She found it fascinating, actually.

**p r o l o g u e **

The Albuquerque sun shone high in the cool blue sky, sunlight shimmering through the still air as the light breeze whipped the city into an insurmountable frenzy. The Lake was calm as ever and birds skimmed the surface of the water; an occasional flap of their wings and their blithe chirping as the water splashed into a thousand different directions was a welcome change from the quiet that lingered. The tatty old house that stood overlooking the placid lake was silent as ever, the windows were closed shut with curtains draped shut messily.

"Hi," she called out, offering him a perfunctory wave. The man in question looked at her blankly.

"You're early."

Grinning, she tugged her jeans off her legs, revealing a part of her red swimsuit. A hand lingered near the hem of her shirt. "I just felt like having a good swim, is all."

The man said nothing for a moment; his face was a toneless mask. He stood up from his spot on the grassy ground, but didn't move. "Still," he said carefully, "it's not evening."

The brunette, although slightly confused, shrugged her shoulders, looking unperturbed by the blunt accusation in his words. She'd long ago learned never to expect anything but bluntness from this man. She reached for her yellow t-shirt, before pulling it off. The sun shone on her glossily golden skin, and the breeze played with her hair. She looked sideways towards the lake, squinting under the sun's intense glare, before turning her back on the man. "Like I said, just felt like having a good swim."

It was quiet again for a moment, no birds or splashes could be heard over the momentary silence. The man's hand jumped to his unkempt hair involuntarily, and the tattoo on his knuckles shone in the sunlight. Unlike the woman, he wasn't watching the lake; he was watching her. Bending down on his knees, he tugged at the overgrown grass and pulled out a bunch of blades from the ground. He threw it in her direction and said, "Whatever."

He pivoted on his heel and was gone.

The girl, though, was far from being disturbed by his bored and rude demeanor. They weren't, by any means, friends; they weren't even acquaintances. The blue-eyed, sandy-haired guy, renowned for his rudeness and arrogance, lived in the battered old house overlooking the lake. It wasn't like she was even interested in making friends with him; they'd met at the lake several times and they'd stared at each other, none of them willing to say the first word. The first thing Gabriella had noticed about him was his tattoos, the second was his insensitive, curt nature. Only when the need to have a conversation became too much - not because she _wanted_ to, but because it'd have been too strange and too awkward to pretend he wasn't there any longer and go on _without _having one - she'd initiated a talk with a simple, tentative "Hi". Much to her chagrin, he'd just stared at her blankly. He rarely did anything else, save for the occasional blunt and rude comments he sometimes threw upon her in a gracious bestow.

And it was fine, frankly.

Humming, she walked over to the edge of the lake and dipped low. She touched the water with her hand and smiled, humming all the while. The water was warm, warm enough to go on a lazy swim and let the water soak her up. She walked ahead, the water level rising steadily as she did, until the water reached her neck. She let out a carefree laugh then, held her breath and plunged her head under the water. After a second - or minute; for hours seemed like minutes when she was swimming -, her head reemerged from the water.

She was grinning.

Water was her friend. She liked water. Slowly, deliberately, she made her way ahead with graceful strokes of her arm. It was peaceful, and she could feel her worries melting into nothingness and sinking low into the depths of the water. She liked that. With gentle, but powerful strokes, she waded around the shallower end of the lake and floated under the cool summer sky, humming and singing, her mind in a lazy mess. Water did things to her, evidently; her muscles were loose and relaxed, her mind and heart placated and her skin was warm and golden and soaking up sunlight. The water was glimmering.

She swam like that for a few minutes, her movements sluggish and relaxing, before deciding excitedly that it was time for some underwater swimming. Her hair was clinging to her neck and face reverently, her eyes half-lidded. She held her breath, and disappeared under the water.

Unknown to her, the blue-eyed man watched her every move.

--

The insides of the worn-out lake house wasn't anything like anyone could've guessed.

The house was clean, with two rooms, a bedroom and a living room, and a small, albeit messy, kitchen. The walls were a creamy off-white color with high ceilings, combined with large windows that opened out to the lake. The was no garden of course, for it was a lake house, but a set of stairs descended from the living room directly to a pier-like structure attached to the house.

The TV inside the living room was switched on.

Troy Bolton was looking out of his living room with a bored expression plastered on his face. Really, he could think of a lot of things to do. There were some sketches that needed touching up, and lunch needed to be cooked. Nevertheless, something just told him to stand there and look out towards the lake, just like that.

That brunette woman was swimming near the shallow end. He was almost impressed by her grace; almost. He watched in broody silence as her slender, fragile arms cut through the water's surface in a steady rhythm. For a second, he was almost tempted to go out there, rip his clothes off, and just bask in the impenetrable oblivion the water provided.

The girl disappeared under the water, and broke out again after a moment. He hair was plastered to her face and her neck, and she was grinning. He scowled in her direction as she swam with tantalising laziness, oblivious to his intense stare. Her skin was golden, he noticed to himself, and looked impossibly soft. He'd never seen skin like that, save for the sexy sleek actresses on movies and TV shows. He thought it was just over-the-top Photoshop. Now, though, he knew better.

He watched as she took a breath and disappeared under the water.

--

It felt good. Too good, maybe. But good.

A flurry of bubbles erupted from her mouth and nose as soon as she dived underwater, and she watched in wonder as the bubbles floated towards the surface of water and escaped. She pulled back her hands and cut through the water; her hands came back empty. Closing her eyes, she let herself feel the environment. When she opened them again, she was in a blue world and she felt like she belonged. She performed powerful kicks in sync with her strokes, and when the need for oxygen became too much, she broke through the surface again. She was grinning.

She took in a deep breath and held it, disappearing into the blue-green world again as the water around her splashed into different directions. She was in an entirely different world. She felt light-headed; almost as if she were going to be unconscious any moment...

She felt dizzy. Her head was spinning, her throat and chest was burning. An overwhelming weight was pressing down on her, and she was no longer in the blue-green world she'd been moments ago; she was slipping into a different place, a darker place. Her lungs were burning, she thought she was going to explode. Air. _Air, air, air._ It repeated itself like a mantra in her head, but her mind refused to obey. She needed _air._

She was slipping. Fast. A blanket of blankness was pressing down on her; she couldn't breathe. She needed air. She kicked and thrashed at the water, as if trying to convey how betrayed she felt by it at the moment, trying to resurface so she could breathe. Instead, the blanket pressed down harder and she felt herself sinking, sinking, sinking...

She gasped involuntarily, and it was her final mistake. Her lungs ingnited inside her chest and her retinas bulged from her face like walnuts; she was blue all over. Her body became faint and unconscious, and she felt her eyelids droop...

A hand hooked on her waist from behind. Unconsciously, she felt being lifted. The blankness was getting her maybe. Wildy, she kicked and thrashed, shivering and gasping. She would die, for sure. She felt being lifted, into the heavens maybe... Someone was saying something. Words spilled around her and dissolved in the endless water that stretched out all around her; she could make nothing out. She pulled down, beating at whatever came her way, until...

Until she felt air. A sudden spurt of air. She gasped hungrily, consuming as much as she could. Her eyes were closed. Eventually, her gasps came out as faint coughs, until every movement subsided and she was still.

Troy came out of the water, breathing and scowling heavily. The idiotic girl was tucked under his arm. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he collapsed faintly onto the ground, bringing the girl down with him. He settled her on the grassiest patch he could find as she gasped and coughed. For a moment, he looked at her with mild incredulity, then she was still.

The girl was alive, he reflected as he checked for a pulse. She'd live. Maybe. And if not, it was too bad. He recollected the jacket from where he had dropped it before jumping into the lake and covered her with it. He'd been a good guy for long enough; it was time to revert back to his self.

For a second, his hand hovered over her forehead. His eyes became steely as he stood up. Then he was gone.

--

**Author's Note:**

Hi, hullo, howdy. New story, hurray. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping this one would work out. We'll see.

Anyways, review and tell me what you thought, even if it's just one word. Reviews make my day. Also, any suggestions, ideas, crit, anything... share rightaway. They'll be appreciated. And respected.

This? Well, don't ask. One day, I was talking to Joyce (_lipstickdisaster_) and I went all, 'Oh, hey, gimme ideas for some story, yo,' on her. And being the little sweetie she is, she provided me with a brilliant one. So. I'd just like to say THANK YOU, J. x

Read, enjoy (maybe), and review. :D

Much love,  
Pocket


	2. This is Your Savior?

**Dedication: **My big brother. Thank you for all the late night talks about how much school sucks and that stupid pink jumper you bought me. I hate it. :)

**Their Secret**

**c h a p t e r o n e****: This is Your Savior?!**

**--  
**

Golden light entered her eyes first, filtering through her lids and burning into her retina until the stinging was too much to ignore.

When she opened her eyes, the sky was purple and red.

Gabriella blinked, groaning. For some reason, the color of the sky burned her eyes, prompting her to close them again. Once closed, they were hard to reopen, she acknowledged hazily. She breathed evenly for some seconds. Her chest was heavy and she felt groggy. Music was blaring in the distance, but she was too exhausted to be curious. Summoning all her willpower, she opened her eyes again, blinked twice, then let out a tiny yawn.

She was lying at some distance from the edge of the lake. It was near sunset. From where she lay, she could see the tall trees bordering the lake towering nobly over their own reflections in the lake. The grass was being whipped into action by the gentle breeze that blew. Wincing slightly, Gabriella spread her hands on the ground and tried to push herself up. After two lazy attempts, she succeeded.

She was still wearing the same swimsuit she'd been wearing when she dove in the lake. Her hair was slightly wet, sticking to her forehead. She pushed stray strands of hair out of her face. The lake house stood overlooking the vast lake, reflected against the dancing surface of the water. Gabriella squinted. The lights inside were switched on.

For the first time since she woke up, she smiled tiredly; it was a smile, nonetheless.

The terror wasn't there anymore. After a little self-searching, she realized she was actually feeling quite peaceful. Or secure, maybe. The apprehension was still there, in spades, when she looked towards the lake, but the harm wasn't anymore. She was alive. Safe, even. Dizzy, but safe enough.

She realized she wouldn't be going in that lake for quite some time. The thought made her swallow in dismay. But it was for her own good. That ought to have been a comforting thought, but it only made her throat burn more.

Sighing, she brought a hand up to her face and pressed it to her forehead. What if she _had_ drowned? What if the rude guy with the blue eyes hadn't saved her? What if it had been _water_ that took her life, of all things? Water, that she'd loved dearly for nearly her entire life, and water, that she feared at the moment?

Gabriella didn't want to think. Not yet.

She knew, however, what she had to do. Or what she wanted to do, anyway. Her life had almost been taken a couple of hours ago, and had it not been for that guy, she probably would be dead by then, rotting in the waters of The Lake. She knew how she felt at the moment.

When she reached the foot of the stairs ascending up to the front door of the house after some time of trying not to collapse on the ground and sleep until the dizziness subsided, her self-confidence had returned. Most of it, anyway. The loud music pounding inside the house, however, wasn't good for her. Without a moment of hesitation, she climbed the stairs and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

The recent events hadn't really been in her favor.

Four times.

The floor beneath her feet was pounding.

Fifth knock.

Sixth knock.

When the door swung open, she'd lost count of how many times she'd knocked on that door. She wasn't surprised, really.

First came a waft of some extremely spicy and overwhelming cologne, closely followed by a puff of black cigarette smoke. Gabriella suppressed a cough. The next thing she noticed was the foul expression on the guy's face; it was neither as staggering nor as offending as the previous two things she'd noticed, but more. When another gust of smoke blew in her face, she realized with suppressed amusement that he wouldn't be the one to start the conversation.

Gabriella coughed. "Hello," she said, a warm smile on her face. This time it wasn't a fake one.

The man's scowl deepened. With a satisfied feeling, Gabriella realized that it was going to take more to make her falter. "I'm Gabriella Montez," she continued, sticking her hand out for the sake of being polite, even though she knew he wasn't going to be touching her anytime soon. "I don't think I've introduced myself properly before."

The blue-eyed, rude man took a slow drag of his cigarette and then blew the smoke right in her face. Gabriella noticed a paint brush sticking behind his ear, slightly surprised, as she dropped her hand lamely back to her side. Her savior – if she had the audacity to call him that – was an artist. She studied him discreetly. A tattoo crawled from his collar up his neck. "_What_ the fuck," he said slowly, "do you want?" His tone was flat, bored; it just amused her more.

"I want to say thank you," she barreled on confidently, overlooking his attitude. She knew better than to expect him to fall at her feet.

He arched an eyebrow. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, the ever-present flatness still there in his voice. "But I'll pretend I do and let you leave in peace." He dropped the cigarette butt to his feet and crushed it, and withdrew his gaze from hers, already turning back.

"No," she challenged brightly. The momentary surprise that overtook him worked well for her; she slipped through the door inside the house. When he caught up, she was already inside his house.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, woman?" he snarled, eyebrows raised.

"Thanking you." Gabriella looked around the house and raised her eyebrows. "Classy."

The house was small, with cream-colored walls and big windows that looked out towards the lake. On her left was a small kitchen, and to her front was a door leading to another room. The ceiling was high and the roof had skylights. It was a surprisingly pleasant house for the rude, arrogant occupant she'd just met.

"Get out." His voice was void of any anger she thought he might have felt at the invasion. Instead, it had its usual flatness back to it.

"How very pleasant of you," she said, grinning. The guy's face darkened. "But I knew about your rudeness already." She plopped herself down on the comfortable-looking yellow couch. Another surprise. "I don't know your name yet," she informed pointedly.

"And you never would," he replied. For some reason, he didn't pursue any further attempts to get her out. He walked towards a window, in front of which stood a canvas. There was a painting on it; a half-finished painting.

Gabriella regarded him with curiosity. "An artist," she mused out loud. "A painter, at that. Never would've thought."

He didn't answer but kept his back to her. Slightly irked by his passive attitude, Gabriella picked up a small notebook from the rickety old table in front of her.

"Troy Bolton," she said, reading his name from the front page. A smile appeared on her face. Troy whipped his head around. "Is that your name?" she asked with a small smile.

"Don't touch that," he snapped. Gabriella only hummed.

Vaguely, she remembered that the purpose for her visit was to thank him. She wasn't thanking him, by any means. The only things she'd managed to accomplish so far were being a nosy chatter-box and breaking in his house. Not really productive.

Never though, in her life, did she think she would be inside the lake house without World War III being wreaked all over the place. She continued humming. A waft of air blew in through the window and she shivered.

"Oh," she said as she realized she was still in her swimsuit. "I forgot to put on my clothes," she admitted sheepishly, flushing. "I'm sorry."

He rolled his eyes at her over his shoulder.

"Can I borrow your phone? I left mine in my jeans pocket."

He turned around slowly, annoyance written all over his face. "Can _you_ shut the fuck up?"

Gabriella blinked. "Uh, sure." Then: "Can I borrow your phone now?"

"Fuck off."

She sighed and leaned back on the couch, wondering what on earth she was doing there. The house was nice, sure, but the guy wasn't in the least. She should probably have caught a taxi back to her house, without saying any _thank you_s. Have a hot bath, maybe. And eat something.

"Is that your girlfriend?" She pointed to a painting of a girl hanging on the left wall. She was feeling restless... and hungry.

Troy stuck the paint brush behind his ear and grunted. He fished in his pocket for something and drew out a silver cell phone. He threw it at Gabriella, and when she let it drop, he rolled his eyes. "I hope that keeps your annoying gob shut."

Gabriella rolled her own eyes, already dialing a familiar number on the phone. "Thanks."

'_Hello?'_

She breathed in relief. "Hey, Sharpay," she greeted. Troy sniggered contemptuously. Gabriella ignored him.

'_Gabriella?' _A pause, then: '_Oh my god, where the hell are you?'_

"I'm perfectly fine, Shar," she answered. "Albeit a little short on self-esteem. But fine, for the most part."

'_What happened?'_ Sharpay's tone was as uninterested as ever; Gabriella wasn't even sure if her friend cared. '_Is everything okay?'_

"There's this asshole," Gabriella replied. "But that's not the point. I nearly drowned."

A beat passed. '_What the fuck, Gabriella?!' _Sharpay shrieked.

"I'll tell you later," the brunette replied hastily, sparing a quick glance in Troy's direction. He was still working on his painting, but his back was unusually stiff. "First get me out of here. I'm at the lake house by The Lake."

_'Gabriella, what—?'_

"I'll tell you later," she promised. "But just come pick me up. 'Bye."

She hung up.

_Green Day_'s 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' came blaring through the speakers in the right corner of the room next. Gabriella realized the house was practically pounding.

"Entertain yourself," Troy told her over the sound. He smirked. Her headache worsened. "Because I'm not going to be doing that anytime soon."

He abandoned his painting and disappeared behind the door leading to another room. The door slammed shut.

"Can I lower the volume, at least?"

No response. Gabriella sighed.

**--**

When Gabriella had told Sharpay Evans that she had a surprise for her on her birthday, she hadn't thought the surprise would be in the form of a phone call from Gabriella, telling her that she'd almost died and that Sharpay should pick her up from 'the house by The Lake'.

When she'd told Taylor about their phone call, the African-American girl had freaked out all over the place. With what she considered extreme patience, Sharpay had told her that Gabriella was okay and suggested she should shut up. Taylor had announced that she'd be going with her to make sure Gabriella really was fine. Sharpay had complied with an eye-roll.

It didn't mean that she didn't regret it.

As she cut her engine in front of what looked like it could be 'the house by The Lake', Sharpay weighed her options. Lock Taylor inside the car or push her in The Lake? Both options were equally satisfying and tempting, but she resisted the urge nonetheless.

"Why didn't she call me?" Taylor wondered aloud for the fiftieth time. "She could've called me. She knows I'm the more responsible one."

"Are you seriously _jealous_ that she called me?" the blonde snapped, patience giving way to annoyance.

"Of course not," her friend replied, blinking. "Just... this is so weird. Gabriella. Nearly drowning." She slammed the car door shut. "She's the best swimmer I've ever known."

Sharpay looked towards the rough ground, and then at her high heels. For the first time in her life, she cursed her choice of shoes. A car ride with Taylor McKessie had been painful enough. She nodded distractedly as her friend babbled. "Yeah, remember that time her grandmother threw her in and she came out alive, just like that?"

"Exactly," Taylor replied, shaking her head. "I wonder what really happened."

They climbed the stairs leading to the front door. This had to be the lake house Gabriella had been talking about. There was none other in sight. Sharpay looked for a doorbell; there wasn't one. Rolling her eyes, she asked Taylor to thump on the door.

A moment later, the door opened to reveal a swimsuit-clad Gabriella.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Taylor questioned before Sharpay could comment on Gabriella's clothing, or lack thereof. The blonde rolled her eyes. "Yes, Gabriella, are you okay?" she mimicked Taylor. Taylor glared at her.

Gabriella laughed. "Never been better."

Sharpay raised an eyebrow. An instant later, a shaggy-haired, tattooed and blue-eyed man dressed in black jeans and a dark blue shirt that read 'Whatever' made his appearance over her shoulder. "Ah, now I see. Had a good fuck?" she asked with an understanding nod of her head.

The man matched her expression and looked at Gabriella. "No, she's not tempting enough for me." Then, crossing his arms on his chest, he acknowledged the two girls who'd just appeared. "What do you want?"

Feeling a spark of grudging admiration, Sharpay turned to Gabriella and cocked an eyebrow. "So this is your surprise?" She gave Troy a critical once-over. "Someone's who's even ruder than moi?"

The brunette grinned easily. "Actually, no," she said, looking at the man. "But he _is_ rude. Even more than you."

"This is annoying," Troy drawled. "Being surrounded by a horde of annoying girls." He regarded them all with a foul expression. None of them cowered under his gaze. "What the hell do you people _want_?"

"Wait—" Taylor stalled, looking from Troy to Gabriella. "This_ is your_ _savior?!_"

Sharpay looked constipated. "'_This is your savior?!' _indeed." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "I think I need to sit down." Without hesitating for a second, Sharpay slid in through the door, hip-checking Troy on the way.

Taylor followed.

"You have some pleasant friends, kid," Troy remarked sardonically. He rolled his eyes, making his way inside.

"I feel you should know," he said, once all of them were inside, "that you're not welcome here at all."

"Sweet," Sharpay said tonelessly. The resemblance between Troy's tone and hers was uncanny.

"So Gabs," Taylor said, as Troy plopped down on the wobbly chair by the window and took out another cigarette, looking unspeakably bored, "what really went down?"

"Oh yes," Sharpay piped sardonically, "do tell." She turned to Troy. "You have guests. Can't you just offer us something to eat?" She looked at the cigarette in his hands, disgusted. "And please don't smoke when you have company."

He looked uninterested and made no attempt to move. "You're not guests. You broke in. And this is my house."

"It's still a tradition. To treat a guest, I mean."

Troy snorted.

"Be thankful he hasn't called the police yet," Gabriella said, rolling her eyes. Thank god he'd turned the earth-shattering music off.

Taylor, ever the rational-minded girl, scoffed and picked invisible, non-existent threads off her skirt. "You were telling us about the accident," she reminded, sounding annoyed.

"Oh that," Gabriella said hazily. "I nearly drowned, is all." She waved a dismissive hand.

The African-American girl gaped at her as Sharpay observed her nails. "You," she sputtered, "...You _what?"_

"Are you hard of hearing or something?" Troy snapped, blowing out smoke. The girls ignored him.

"But Gabriella," Taylor said, a bit calmly than before, "that's amazing. I mean, you're like a professional swimmer... or something."

Troy stirred and barked out a sardonic laugh. "You mean _mermaid _here actually _knows_ how to _swim_?" he questioned sarcastically, dropping the cigarette butt on the floor. "That's a shocker."

Gabriella made a face at him. "Ha _ha_," she snapped dryly. "I don't really know what happened. One second I was swimming and enjoying myself, the next second I was gasping for breath. It was... terrifying." She shuddered dramatically.

"And then, _he _jumped in," Sharpay assumed, looking at Troy sharply with her shrewd brown eyes. "And he saved you, like the knight in shining armor he is," she said in a heavily sarcastic tone, sighing dramatically. A pensive expression crossed her face. "Why though?" she smirked at him.

His face closed up like a book and his eyes turned icier, if possible. "I don't know what you're talking about," he declared airily. "Now, with all due respect, _ladies_," he ground out, "_get out._"

Taylor was the only one who stood up. "Even though you haven't been exactly nice to us," she sniffed, "you still saved Gabriella's life. We owe you."

There was a unanimous cry of protest from her audience.

"We don't owe that _bastard_ _anything_!" Sharpay cried.

"Yeah, we don't _owe_ him!" Gabriella piped in.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," the savior said.

The African-American friend huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You sure are a clueless person, idiot," she snapped at Troy. Then, with the air of someone explaining something to a five-year-old, she said, "You saved Gab's life. It's our duty to return the favor."

Sharpay snorted indelicately. "You mean, he can pretend to drown in the lake so we could fish him out or something like that?" The smirk melted off her face. "Really, McKessie, it's fine. It's not like he wants us to return the favor, right?"

Troy observed Gabriella as she spoke up. "Do you want us to do something for you, Troy?"

He observed her thoroughly and unabashedly, from her legs to her chest to her face. He shrugged nonchalantly. "From them? No. From you?" he smirked, "Maybe."

The girls rolled her eyes as the implications of his words set in. "You're not getting her to spread her legs for you," scoffed Sharpay.

"I bet I can, though."

The blonde rubbed her hands together, eyes gleaming wickedly. "What do you bet?"

"My... pride."

A moment of silence passed. "It's on," Sharpay declared blithely.

"Sharpay," Gabriella cried indignantly, "I'm _right_ here! And you," she rounded on Troy, "are _not_ getting in my pants. Ever. For all you know, I might have a boyfriend," she declared.

His face darkened. "You're saying that now," he said, sounding bored.

"Still! Just because you saved someone's life doesn't mean they owe you sex!"

"Yeah, yeah," Troy said coolly. "Well, that's the only way you could've 'thanked' me," he said with exaggerated sadness. "It's fine though. There are better fish in the pond, mermaid."

Outside the window, the lake shone under the ethereal light of the moon. The water was calm.

"You disgust me." Gabriella rolled her eyes. "And me," Sharpay added, nodding.

"You have the same effect on me," Troy deadpanned, slumping down on the couch. Taylor was observing the surroundings with a disapproving eye. "Get out. Now."

They stood up and picked their things. "I'll come to pick my dress tomorrow. It's really dark outside right now," Gabriella announced, peering outside the window anxiously. Troy snorted. Gabriella noticed he did that a lot. "And besides, I have to... what? Right, _return your favor."_

As they made their way to the front door, Gabriella looked at Troy. "Never would've thought you would be one to walk your guests to the door."

"Don't be so delusional, mermaid. I have to lock the door." His gaze was cool. "Can't have annoying girls breaking in my house again."

Gabriella stopped in her tracks as Sharpay and Taylor made their way down the stairs. "Are you coming or what?" Taylor called back in an annoyed and annoying tone.

"Maybe she's changed her mind. Don't worry, we'll pick you up tomorrow," Sharpay added in a pompous voice. "Oh, and don't forget to use protection."

Troy rubbed his temple. His spicy cologne made her head dizzy. And reminded her of how close they were at the moment. "What the fuck do you want now, mermaid?"

She flung her arms around him.

Troy stiffened at the contact instantly, breathing heavily, and shook himself free. Under the dim light of the moon, he glared at her. "Go," he said flatly, gesturing towards Sharpay and Taylor.

Gabriella looked at him seriously, throwing away all pretences of annoyance or irritation. "Thank you."

He'd die if anyone knew, but he internally shivered at the sincerity in her tone. "Whatever," he said dismissively, coolly. "You're not welcome, mermaid. At all."

The door slammed shut in her face.

**--**

**Author's Note:**

Weekend = Update. Woots.

Howdy. First chapter up. –Insert hyooooooge sigh of relief here– I'm not really fond of it, honestly. Hope you liked it though, because that's what matters to me most. :)

Thank you to all the lovely people who reviewed. I can't say how much I loved your reviews, so thank you. :)

Hope you read, _enjoy_ and **review**. ;)

-24th pocket


	3. And Madness Ensues

Dedication: My cousin, SA. I think you're the best. Maybe because you _are._

_--  
_

**Their Secret  
**_Chapter II: And madness ensues_

**--  
**

"Troy!"

A pink-haired woman came flying from behind the counter and pushed her lips on his, squeezing the breath out of him until he shook her off with irritably. He stood still as she proceeded to pinch his cheeks fondly, looking entirely unabashed, for he knew that any attempts to resist the torture would be nothing but futile.

She let go of him, finally, and beamed wordlessly at him. "Scarlett," he said, rolling his eyes, "when would you stop this... what did you say it was? Routine?"

Besides being the most bothersome woman to ever co-exist with, Scarlett Weston was the owner of the tattoo parlor he worked at. Unlike most of the people, she refused to be daunted by Troy's withdrawn and curt nature and would go way out of line to engage him in any sort of conversation with herself or anyone else. She'd automatically assumed something of a motherly role towards him when he'd taken up the job sometime over a year ago, despite having the habit of getting a bit_ too_ cozy with him. Troy was none too fond of her antics, and he made it clear.

The woman seemed oblivious to his annoyance as she spoke. "Honey, you look so pale." She studied his face critically like an artist observing a painting for a moment, her brows furrowed in what seemed like an attempt to look anxious. "Bags under the eyes. Puffy eyes. Stayed up late finishing that painting of yours?" she asked, shaking her head in concern, and fanned his shirt dramatically.

"I'm fine," he snapped, moving out of her reach. Or trying to. She grabbed his shoulder to keep him in place, and started to comb her hand through his hair in order to flatten his hair. He tried to dodge her hand. "Oh, _please_, woman."

"Something else, then?" A teasing smile formed on her lips as she tilted her head, looking at him conclusively.

Troy eyed her evenly for a moment. She stood with her plump body blocking his way, an infuriating twinkle in her eyes. He entertained the thought of sprouting some fickle lies just to arouse her curiosity. "Maybe," he answered finally, dismissively, trying to sound mysterious.

Sliding away from the woman, he made his way to the door on the left. Hopefully, he would've gotten rid of her for the day.

"Oooo!" Scarlett called excitedly and waved the duster in her hand at him, but didn't move from her spot. _Score._ "I want details!" she added in a sing-song voice.

Indeed, Troy thought wryly. He pushed open the door without a backward glance. The room was small and the walls were yellow – what an extraordinary color to adorn the insides of a tattoo parlor; Troy always wondered – and one wall of the room was covered with a floor-length mirror. On one side of the room was a counter covered in rows and rows of ink bottles, boxes of needles stacked on top of each other, and lethal-looking tattoo guns. Anyone else would've been intimidated by the equipment, but Troy merely spared a glance towards it.

He fished for something on the counter. Ah, there it was; the thing that kept bugging him the last night. He drew out a tattered-looking notebook from amidst the miscellaneous stuff that lined the counter, and shuffled through the pages. Dropping the notebook on an empty part of the counter, he studied the open page, tilting his head to the side. He frowned.

It was a drawing of a mermaid. Lilies veined around her torso. It was the picture that had flashed in his mind the first time he saw that Mermaid girl.

A second later, his phone buzzed inside his pocket.

He slid his fingers inside his pocket, a deep scowl settling steadily on his face. His concentration was broken. When he drew out the phone, though, he was stunned.

**1 message received.  
**_So are you in the mood for lunch with us? –Gabriella_

He stared. And stared. Then stared some more.

Gabriella, that Mermaid woman? Who had been inside his house – and his head, though he would never admit that – for the better part of yesterday? How the fuck had _Mermaid_ gotten hold of his number?

He doubled back as realization hit. Of course! She'd been inside his goddamn house for almost two _alone_, for the most part.

What a nosy woman. But of course, it was him who'd told her to 'entertain' herself.

He sighed a quiet, rueful sigh. Well, there went any plans he'd had for a normal day.

Scowling at the screen – not that he minded the invasion on his privacy, but because it was the principle of the thing –, he typed, "How the fuck did you get my number?" as a reply. He already knew how. Anything to evade answering her question would work; he didn't want to be around anyone that afternoon.

A moment of silence passed. Six seconds later, the phone buzzed again.

_I got it from that notebook I found in your house, duh. Just answer my question._

Troy smiled sardonically. He switched on all the lights in the room, pondering over how he should reply. No customer had arrived yet, which worked well for him. The peach-colored marble floor glinted under the lights, brightening up the gloomy environment a little.

_I'll sue you. _Troy pressed the send button without hesitation, although he wasn't entirely satisfied with his reply.

The pink-haired woman, Scarlett, appeared magically in the doorway sometime later, huffing. "Nineteen-year-old narcissistic female. Shall I send her in?" She noticed him staring blankly at his phone and rolled her eyes. Her patience was running short. "Troy?"

"You wouldn't give me a choice anyway," he said somewhat irritably. Scarlett's mere presence irked him. "Why bother to ask then?"

Apparently, annoyance made him one heck of a talker.

She appeared annoyed herself. "_Shall _I?"

"Fine, fine," he said monotonously, waving his hand. His phone buzzed in his hand.

Scarlett disappeared as magically as she'd appeared. A moment later, a tall and fierce-looking girl with red hair butted her way in, chewing on a piece of gum in the most obnoxious manner one could ever do. The first thing Troy noticed about her was the copious amount of piercings that marked her face. Somehow, they made her look even more ridiculous.

He nodded at her for the sake of propriety – even though he didn't give two shits about pleasing her –, his face void of any emotions. She scowled in retaliation.

"So you're the tattooist, eh?" she growled, looking around the room and the equipment present, and then settled her disdainful gaze on him. Troy nodded again, though his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away. He blinked and stifled a yawn. The woman eyed him with unveiled distaste. "A bit blank though, aren't you?"

To her irritation, Troy ignored her straight to her face.

He had stayed up late last night, reading one of the books he'd brought with him to the Lake House. It was a good distraction from the confusion the previous course of events had induced. For him, a phone call from his mother telling him that she was getting re-married to a businessman in New York the next month, a near-death incident, and a girl he'd rescued from drowning was simply too much to take. Slipping in his persona or dissolving to a speck underneath his hood didn't seem to work anymore.

"Well, I hope you'd get the tattoo right, at least," his customer grunted menacingly – at least, that was what he thought she was trying to sound: menacing –, settling herself on the chair in the middle of the room.

Discreetly, he checked the message he'd received as his customer babbled on about how she wanted to be tattooed:

_C'mon, even YOU are not that heartless. ;) Now, yes or no to the lunch offer?_

"Are you even listening, mister?" the redhead snapped petulantly as an odd sort of balloon expanded in his chest. Troy jerked back to reality.

He blinked and looked up. "Of course," he nodded, uncharacteristically polite.

"Well, then," the redhead flicked her hair behind her shoulder, observing herself in the mirror, "could you be useful for once and at least show me some flashes?" Scarlett wasn't lying about her being a narcissist, apparently. His blankness today didn't help matters. "You know, if you don't mind?" she added.

"Of course I don't mind," he replied as politely as he could, turning away from her to get the equipment needed. Inside, though, he felt like throttling her and drowning her in the deepest part of The Lake.

Drowning. The thought made him swallow.

"Hurry."

What he wanted to say was: _fuck you_; what he ended up saying was: "Sure."

He reread Mermaid's message, toying with the words in his mind, as though trying to find some sort of comfort for his jumbled mess of a mind.

His hands hovered over the keypad for a second before he pressed the 'send' button:

'_Whatever.'_

Then he switched off his phone. He'd sue her later, maybe. Maybe. He dwelled on that word.

--

"So, what's the agenda for tonight?" Gabriella asked.

Sharpay Evans, decked from head to toe in pink, sat on the plush pink couch in the living room, filing her nails with a bored air. Gabriella sat cross-legged on her own couch, an orange-and-yellow polka dotted one, staring at the magazine in her lap. Taylor McKessie's couch, however, was black and unoccupied as she was out bowling ("Bowling. Really, sometimes I wonder why I'm even dating that lunkhead.") with her boyfriend, Chad Danforth. The other two occupants of the house had taken it upon them to exploit the absence of their high-maintenance and bossy friend to the extent of their capabilities.

"Don't know," Sharpay answered lightly, buffing her nails on her shirt. She graced her brunette friend with a glance. "What did you do today?"

"The usual," Gabriella said, shrugging. "The hospital, Derek Steel, lunch at The Cheap Restaurant By The School..."

"And The Lake?" her friend prompted. "Did you go to the lake today?"

Gabriella's brow furrowed. "Um, no," she replied, rolling her eyes lightly, "for obvious reasons. Why do you ask?"

The blonde ignored her question and raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. "For obvious reasons?" She nodded her head slowly. "You mean the enigma that goes by the name of Troy Bolton?" Her tone was sneering as she said his name.

Gabriella rolled her eyes again. "No, Sherlock." She grabbed the remote control from the table and switched on the TV. "Isn't it _obvious?_"

"What's obvious?" Sharpay held out her hand and observed her work. "That you're falling – hard and fast – for that Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome? Or that you have an affair going on with him by the night?"

"Please," the brunette scoffed. "Like, what, he saves me from drowning and suddenly he becomes likeable?" She stared at the blonde with such great incredulity that the other was convinced she was faking it. "He's still the arrogant _asshole_ he was before. You know me, Shar; I don't do assholes."

"Something I've never understood," Sharpay admitted, squinting at her nails, "is why you _don't_ do assholes. The asshole-ness just adds to the whole chocolate-hero appeal."

"Well," the brunette sniffed, "I'd rather be with someone who treated me better than their doormat." She grinned, then. "It's good to know that at least one of us has some limits."

Sharpay looked up, amused. "You saying I'm a skank?" Her tone was light, amusement glinting through the words. Gabriella recognized the friend who'd been there for her whenever she needed in the girl before her then.

"Are you denying that you are?"

"Well," Sharpay set aside the filer and puckered her lips, "I suppose I do act sort of brazen at times," she grinned, "but of course. It's called living life, hun."

Gabriella stuck out her tongue. She could get where her friend was getting off of, but still. "You're telling me you can't have fun without playing tongue tag with every cute male you come across?" She rolled her eyes. "Right."

"Hmm." Suddenly, her head swiveled around and she glared indignantly at her friend. "Congratulations," she snapped dryly, "you've succeeded in distracting me. Again."

"Thank you."

"Seriously, how do you do it?"

"A master never tells his secrets," Gabriella replied, intentionally sounding pompous. "You were saying?"

The blonde rolled her eyes and fixed the TV screen with a blank stare. "Troy Bolton."

"Um, honey," Gabriella said timidly, looking at the TV screen herself, "that's Brad Pitt." And then, slightly annoyed, she added: "You're clearly having trouble with your eyes."

"And clearly, you," Sharpay pointed a manicured finger at her, "with your heart." A wicked smile formed on her lips.

"Look, can we drop this?" Gabriella sighed.

Sharpay pouted in confusion. "Why?"

"Because it's stupid."

"Stupid, yes, but fun."

"There are lots of other ways to have fun."

"Like, entertaining erotic ideas about having a certain hot kind of fun with a certain tattooed, blue eyed man?" She paused, scrunching her nose. "That sounded super lame."

Gabriella nodded fervently. "I know." She bit her lip. "But like I said, I didn't go there for obvious reasons."

Her friend appeared to be trifle annoyed. "Look, if you don't want to tell me, don't."

The brunette chewed on her lip. "No, no," she exclaimed, frustrated, pulling at the ends of her hair. It was clear that something was bothering her.

Sharpay looked away. "You want to talk about it?"

"Yes!" Gabriella said, seizing the opportunity eagerly. "I mean..." she coughed, then rolled her eyes, "Oh, fuck this. I've been wanting to talk about it for forever. You see, I'm slightly," she hesitated, searching for words, "well, kind of afraid of the lake... water, in general, and swimming now."

She was fixed a blank stare. "You're what?"

"But I'm sure it'll pass," she went on hastily. She fidgeted in her seat. "I mean, it will, won't it?"

"Why does it even matter to you that much?"

Gabriella's head snapped up, an accusatory tint in her eyes. "Swimming's been my life," she said quietly.

"I know that," Sharpay said gently. "I'm not saying swimming means nothing. I'm just..." she hesitated for a second, "Well, it's just... you're not going to lose anything if you didn't swim anymore." Gabriella's eyebrows rose up in disbelief. "Besides," Sharpay hasted to add, "it's not like this fear of water that you've developed will last forever now, is it? You're going to be back in water in no time, like the mermaid you are." Sharpay shrugged.

A slight pause ensued. "Hmm," the brunette said, "I suppose. But what did you mean about the 'you're-not-going-to-lose-anything' thing?" she asked sharply.

Sharpay sighed exaggeratedly, bored. "Well, obviously, you're going to have time to spare to bigger and better things in life," she explained. "Like – dating, for example. Try it; it's _really_ fun."

"Hey, _I_ date," Gabriella threw back defensively.

"Going to watch _documentaries_ concerning jungle animals together is hardly what you call dating," her friend informed her graciously. "God, you're boring." She yawned.

"It's still bugging me."

"Just like you." Sharpay rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Worrying over trivial things."

"This is a matter of great importance to me."

"Indeed," Sharpay nodded. She studied Gabriella for a moment. "Let's go clubbing."

--

**Author's Note:**

...No author's note.

Well, actually, there is. I'm just being a pathetic coward.

First of all – this chapter. It isn't much. But my laptop has been away from me for the past three/four weeks for really stupid reasons. :'( I just got it back yesterday, which means that I haven't had much time to continue the chapter where I left it at 1000 words. Thus the incredible amount of lameness. Sorry. Mostly, it's just some stuff about Troy and Gabriella's (separate) lives, and I think it's important, because said lives are soon going to be intertwined, in a silly cliché. ;)

Hope you enjoyed. :)

-Pocket


	4. A Dance of Sorts

Dedication: My friend H. You totally made me a better person, dude. :D

**--**

**Their Secret  
**_Chapter III: A Dance Of Sorts_

_--_

"Seriously, you're going to be thanking me for this later," Sharpay announced, hanging her sparkling silver coat.

"Yes, I'm sure," Gabriella replied dryly.

After what Sharpay Evans considered some severe convincing, her friend had finally – and extremely begrudgingly – agreed to her decidedly crazy idea of going out clubbing. It wasn't as if Gabriella hadn't been to a club before; just that she hadn't been to one _without_ Taylor. Truth was, Gabriella had low tolerance for alcohol and always needed someone to look out for her after three drinks, give or take a few. She knew for a fact that Sharpay, on the other hand, would undoubtedly be disgusted by the prospect of having to tend to a very tipsy, very klutzy, very giddy and very uncontrollable Gabriella tripping over every flat surface in touch. It was a rather challenging task, one that asked for serious patience.

As for Sharpay, Gabriella hardly trusted her for that task.

"I'm telling you, Shar. Nightclubs and I don't go together," she warned for the umpteenth time that night. It was true. Maybe it was her, or maybe it was the noise, or maybe it was the music. Whatever it was, though, Gabriella knew it wasn't good for her. It wasn't as though she was particularly shy or conservative. She'd enjoy herself at first, but then the atmosphere would become too excruciatingly intolerable for her and she'd get a killer headache. She'd puke three times straight afterwards, and demand to be let out. That was how it _always_ was.

Sharpay waved a dismissive hand. "Rubbish." She grabbed her arm and linked it through hers. "You need to face your fears to overcome them, honey."

Gabriella rolled her eyes. "Trust me, you wouldn't be this confident about my self-control once I down two or three shots of Vodka."

Sharpay fixed her eyes on her face and smirked. "Trust me, _you_ wouldn't be so distraught by your _lack _of self-control once some guy, say," she looked around, "_that_ one gets his hand on you," she said, winking at her and pointing to the shadow of a guy in the distance. Gabriella rolled her eyes. Oh, the things she did for this girl.

"I'm not sure about that," she scoffed, crossing her arms on her chest.

Sharpay fluffed her blonde hair and squared her shoulders, inspecting the crowd inside with a single, narrow-eyed gaze. "Of course," she said, nodding distractedly.

"What do you mean by that?" Gabriella retorted in annoyance.

Sharpay's eyes turned back to her face. A wide grin lit up her face. Gabriella was trifle annoyed by the supreme twinkle in her eyes. "I'm going to get going, 'kay?" She held up her hand just as Gabriella raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to say something. "Go wow some, gorgeous," she sang, already moving towards the dance floor.

Gabriella sighed as her friend's blonde wisp of hair disappeared among the numerous bodies dancing on the floor. This was going to be a tough night. She felt very conscious of herself in the hued lights of the nightclub, alone to the exposure of copious unknown people. Tentatively, she steered herself between drunken bodies, making her way towards the bar.

It was several minutes after she'd had her first drink that a drunken mess of a man latched himself onto her.

"'Scuse me, you're hot," he breathed, grinning toothily. Gabriella cringed at the reek of alcohol in his breath.

"Excuse me, you're touching my _person_," she snapped, elbowing him hard in the ribs and getting out of his clumsy grip. The man blinked his green eyes dazedly, and gave her an unabashed and hungry once-over.

"Get _going_, you freak," Gabriella bit off, rolling her eyes and already beginning to move in the opposite direction. A groan escaped her as she crashed right into a rock-solid shadowy figure.

Gabriella rolled her eyes. "Not again."

"Yeah," a husky voice said. Gabriella's head snapped up and she gaped. "Not again."

Troy grinned sardonically and held up his bottle of Vodka to his mouth.

Heat wrapped the length of Gabriella's body. She looked away. "Oh, _naturally_."

"Amazing, isn't it?" He looked down at her. "You keep bumping into me at the most unexpected places." His gaze flicked away from her face and back. "A nightclub; who would've thought?"

"If I didn't know better, I would've thought you were stalking me," she replied, regaining a modicum of her senses. It _was_ amazing, this irrational and alarming way their lives seemed to be crossing.

"As if." He sounded a little tipsy, though not fully drunk. The drunkenness made him sound a little livelier, a little less flat. "You delude yourself too much."

Gabriella's head buzzed. She was aware that the alcohol had long ago started taking its toll on her head, but it wasn't until then she got a severe urge to bang it against a wall. Heat crawled up her face as she flushed. "Oh yeah?" she said indignantly. "Aren't you chatty today?"

"So I might be a little tipsy," he admitted. "And I tend to be chatty when drunk."

She almost smiled.

And then didn't.

"Look," he took a swig out of his bottle, his eyes doing a ceiling patrol, "you've obviously deluded yourself into believing I saved your ass that day for some... I don't know, for some fucking _reason_." He looked at her directly, a faint smile on his lips. Her lips formed a thin line. "Because I didn't."

"Oh." Feeling both stupid and stupidly hurt, Gabriella tried to control the sparks of indignance that ignited in her stomach. He didn't need to rub it in her face. "Well, there's got to be _some_ reason."

Lame accusation, it was.

He looked away. "Well."

Equally lame justification.

"Look who's uncomfortable now." Her tone was scathing. God, how she needed out right that minute.

"For all I care," he said sharply, his eyes narrowed to slits by then, "you could've fucking died in that lake."

"Yeah?" she whispered angrily, harshly. What was happening? Figures with halos danced across the dance floor and Gabriella had a queer sensation of looking at something through a glass of water. "You know – you – could've let me, instead of getting your stupid ass to save me." She leaned against the pillar, smirking. "You had that choice."

"What're you getting at?" he asked incredulously. Starting to feel a bit stupid at her accusing tone, Gabriella blinked. What _was_ she doing? "I don't give a fuck if anyone dies or not. I thought I've made that much clear."

What was wrong with him? Before he didn't even talk. And now he talked so harshly that Gabriella almost felt like crying.

"Well," she tossed her stupid emotions back to her stomach to rest there, "you obviously _did_ give a fuck then."

"Who cares?" His tone was back to its flat, emotionless form. He seemed a lot more self-conscious all of a sudden. "Guess I was feeling generous that day. Consider yourself lucky, Mermaid."

A second later, Gabriella had dumped her drink on his chest. She was determined to have the last word.

"Guess I'm feeling generous _today_." She smiled saccharinely. "Consider _yourself_ lucky, bastard."

--

Under the stage lights, he was smoking hot. Half-naked and hot. Maybe it was her brain, maybe the alcohol, maybe Troy fucking Bolton, or maybe it was just him; all she knew was that shirtless drummer of Skreme was fucking _fine._

She felt hot and flustered. Her hair was sweaty and messy, sticking to her forehead and the nape of her neck lightly, her eyes diluted and her face burning. Sharpay had come back to make sure she was still there a while ago – or maybe it was an hour ago? – and found her drinking herself out of her mind by the bar. Being Sharpay, she'd just encouraged the irresponsible behavior to the drunken extent of her capability and told her to 'get absolutely wasted'. It was apparent that she was in a similar state to Gabriella's, though a bit more conscious.

"Do you know what just happened?" Gabriella asked her.

"Mars banged Pluto?"

"No," she giggled. "Troy Bolton talked to me."

"That's weird," Sharpay said, but she smiled. They both drank some more.

"Let's get down on the dance floor."

They threaded their way through the bodies scattered on the floor. The alcohol had sent her self-control spinning away in a blur; adrenaline pumped in her veins and heat coursed through her body. The atmosphere was contagious; music blared from every corner, and the Skreme members screamed their hearts out on the stage. All along, Gabriella's eyes were trained on the stage, and her head spun wildly on her shoulders.

"That drummer is fine, Sharpay!" she shrieked to her friend over the music.

"I know, right!"

They danced and danced. They danced like they were incapable of getting tired, which Sharpay probably was, but Gabriella, as she realized half an hour later, thought her head was going to burst. Her heels ached. And goddamn, someone was watching her.

_He_ was watching her.

She exhaled, and started towards his direction. The band had taken a break, as she'd failed to notice, and were putting away their instruments. Her head tingled pleasantly as she walked. Or stumbled.

"Hey," he said, smiling lopsidedly.

No time for small talk, she thought in annoyance. "Hey."

"I saw you dancing there with your friend." He nodded towards the dance floor and leaned onto the wall. "You dance well."

Despite all, Gabriella was still conscious enough to flush a bright red, although the compliment was downright lame and disappointing. "Please. I dance like a platypus. A retarded one, at that." His knee bumped against her calf. A current trailed the area like breeze on a paddie farm. "You are a good drummer."

He laughed blithely. It was a sexy laugh. "You mean you actually heard what I was playing."

"Well, of course," she replied, trying not to look disappointed. No time for small talk, her mind repeated. "You have great control of your hands."

"They do get a lot of practice."

It was like the temperature increased by a few degrees. Around her a blur of people moved incessantly, and—

"Excuse me, get lost," a familiar voice demanded.

Fucking Troy looked at the drummer, who looked between him and Gabriella and rolled his eyes before moving towards a pair of girls that stood drinking by the bar.

"Fuck you," Gabriella bit, looking after the figure of the drummer – what was his name, anyway? – with a hungry gaze.

"You're drunk."

"You're not my father." She looked at him angrily and hit his chest.

"And didn't even know his name."

"Fuck _off_."

"And want to get laid. Not a good combination."

"Wait a second," she slurred, narrowing her eyes, "for all you cared, I could've died, right? So what's with this – this – sudden urge to play knight in shining armor again, eh?" She looked at Troy scathingly. Her eyes were a touch darker. _"You had your choice."_

He was silent for a few seconds. "I don't know." It was the answer she'd least expected. "I fucking don't know, you know that? It's this – sort of weird – _thing_. Or something."

Gabriella looked away. Her vision had cleared a bit over the past few minutes. She could see the drummer talking with a petite redhead.

When she looked back at Troy, she was smirking.

"And you – you are fucking _jealous_."

"Rubbish," he declared airily.

"Jeez."

"Look, I know his type. He's bad news." He looked away that time.

She looked at him incredulously. "Why do you fucking care?"

Troy thought it was a rather good question. The haziness of alcohol had faded over the past hour, but his head still spun wildly. Thinking clearly was a rather difficult feat then.

"Because."

"Oh, yes, that's a completely logical reason."

He looked at her contemplatively. "The alcohol's worn off a bit."

"Apparently. Your presence does things to me."

Several things happened then. Something – something tiny and undefined and fickle – snapped between them, scattering in the air in a thousand little pieces. Something contagious. Gabriella closed her eyes infinitesimally, and when she opened them she could feel the change on her very tongue.

Troy's eyes were dark.

"Fuck, Mermaid."

He pressed his lips harshly to hers and his hand wrapped roughly around the back of her neck. She clutched onto his shoulder as her body tingled—

She let her thoughts go.

--

**Author's Note:**

**HI~ I'M **_THIS WEIRD PERSON_**NOW, JFTR. :)  
**

Nothing to say. Except, probably, that this needs a lot of editing. And is infinitely stupid.

Thanks. :)


	5. Coming Up for Air

**AN: Hello! So. This story being updated after eons, I know. Please don't kill me? :(**

**I'm truly _very_ sorry. For a long time, I've had absolutely no inspiration for this story, and honestly, I still haven't completely figured out what to do with it. But I've decided to update it and give it another chance.**

**I think the previous chapters need a shitload of editing, and everything about this story makes me cringe. But I'm working on it. Hopefully, the story _might _come out a teeny bit better the second time, but we'll have to see.**

**Meanwhile: enjoy. And review. ;)**

* * *

Chapter four: Coming up for Air 

Kissing Troy was like riding a rollercoaster, to no one's surprise. Thrilling, and scary. One second she felt like she was being pelted through air with a great force, held together by nothing but sheer momentum, and the next, she felt a strange sense of dread bloom through her entire body. Like she was going to fall down to the ground any minute and crash into a heap of fractured limbs. It was mind-numbing and electrifying and...

_It was kind of like doing drugs_, Gabriella realized.

He started out fierce, pushing his lips onto hers with a crash that rattled her insides, and then he slid his lips across hers in lazy strokes, withdrawing. A tickling sensation surfaced beneath Gabriella's skin, and when she thought she was going to collapse from the painstaking way he was kissing her, he bit down on her lip. Hard. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she tugged helplessly at his collar, wanting to draw him closer still. A garble of emotions was whirling around in her brain, shapeless thoughts slamming into one another. Her mind was a flurry of bright colours and distorted music, and nothing made any sense. All she knew was that she never wanted him to stop. That her need was too great, too tangible, and she _never wanted him to stop_.

Her hands left his collars and skimmed the stubble at his jaw, moving slowly down his tattooed neck. It was like she was putting careful thought into her every action: like he was a particularly elusive jigsaw puzzle and she was having trouble piecing him together into something that made a little more sense. Her touch was light and urgent because her time could be up any second and there was so much more to explore.

She felt his fingers at the base of her scalp, gripping her firmly. Something rattled in her chest. He had resumed placing solid, open-mouthed kisses against her swollen lips, and their firmness made them feel like angry stomps. The kind that are fueled by never-ending frustration. Against these kisses, her lips felt bruised and helpless and searing with feeling. Sparks ignited just beneath the surface of her skin where his lips rubbed hers raw and traveled the path down her spine, all the way down to her toes.

He was angry.

The thought sent a vague buzz pulsing in the periphery of her brain. She tried to push it away. He was furious with her, stroking accusations across her skin. His lips stomping against hers. And then pressed into the juncture between her neck and jaw, sucking and leaving a burning mark. He grazed the skin with his teeth softly, once, and that was it.

Slowly, Gabriella came to her senses and opened her eyes. Light filled her eyes gradually. His face was right there, still within a couple of inches. But it felt like a widening chasm. His eyes were closed, breathing ragged and chest heaving from where her hands lay across the hardened planes. She was somewhat fascinated because she'd never seen someone look so desperately out of control.

When his eyes did open though, Gabriella had to suppress a sharp inhale. Because there was ice and fire and something _else, _and she'd never felt as exposed as she did in that moment.

"Well." The word wrenched itself from the base of his throat, raspy.

She felt wariness trickle down her spine. "Yeah."

Troy's eyes cleared like a cloudless sky and he peered at her with a frown. "You should go. Or I should. One of us."

_You should go._

So that's what it was. He's burned against her and ignited a wild fire, and left it scorching its way through her insides. He had teased her feelings, and abandoned her midway through the challenge. He'd jumped headfirst, and then dogpaddled his way out fast. She could think up a thousand analogies to elaborate on the bitterness inside her head, but it was pointless. What else could she expect from him?

Troy Bolton did not kiss you and then stick around to talk about boring stuff like repercussions and emotions. He just did not. He fooled around with his (mildly) wonderful tongue, took your breath away and skedaddled off to wherever without a care in the world.

She hadn't even known him for two days but apparently she knew him enough to gather as much. After all, in this respect, no man was ever all that hard to figure out.

If anything, it was her own fault.

She tucked away her bangs with a steady finger, and looked up at him, all saccharine smiles and falsely patient eyes. Took an easy step back. If Troy Bolton wanted to be a douchebag, then so be it. It was expected really, and she couldn't do anything about it. She wouldn't, however, give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered or disappointed.

And if his sly little smirk was anything to go by, he was waiting for exactly that.

"Must be hard for you I know," he said, lips twisting.

Mocking remarks was familiar territory. Mocking remarks was something she could work with.

Right, then.

"Says the guy with the enormous, dejected pout."

"Please. You should see your face. It has 'kicked puppy' written all over it."

Apparently, he _could_ make an exception for making childish remarks and engaging in juvenile mockery in his list of after-make-out Not To Do's. How endearing, Gabriella thought.

"You should see your dick. It has "turned on" written all over it."

He almost rolled his eyes. "That's stupid, even for you."

"Maybe," she conceded easily, shrugging. "But you're the hermit with no social life. It must have been a novel experience for you to feel any kind of human contact after all these years."

So she jumped the fine line between harmless banter and purposefully hurtful words. But it was more than a little difficult to keep her bitterness and anger in check since it was the first time she'd _felt_ a kiss like this, only to have it thrown back in her face. She didn't have a lot of experience with rejection before Troy, and even though it was all she'd ever gotten from him in the short time between their first meeting and right now, this was the hardest blow she'd had to deal with. He'd kept pushing her away since day one, and while she'd never been particularly aggressive with anyone before, with him she tried to push back just as hard. She always felt like she failed though, and that was a big problem.

His eyes darkened momentarily, before picking up a tiny glint. He smirked. "Don't flatter yourself, babe, or I'd be forced to think you put a _little_ too much stock in this."

He gave a tiny, sarcastic chuckle.

It stung – vaguely, Gabriella tried to think – but more than that, she felt the urge to scowl deeply and explicitly stomp her foot. Troy Bolton was a frustrating jerk, a jerk who really got under her skin and made her seethe endlessly. He was like an itch begging to be scratched, but she knew well enough to resist or she would never be able to stop.

Gabriella knew herself well enough. Just like with water, she always wanted to jump right into things and then she'd get the urge to never resurface. And even though such a prospect was always tempting, she knew she'd have to come up for air or otherwise... . Same was the case for Troy Bolton. She'd swum luxuriously in his kiss, but it was time to come out and dry herself off.

She dropped her facade, and openly rolled her eyes. This situation was entirely too stupid to be dissected and made a bigger mess of. So they kissed. So she felt a little giddy. Stomach flutters were not the end of the world for anyone.

"I'll be over there," she said dryly, hooking her thumb in the general direction behind her. Suddenly she wished she was drunk.

In reply, he gave her one of his many shit-eating smirks.

Turning around, Gabriella couldn't help but feel like she'd gotten herself into a pointless, silly mess that she could've easily avoided.

* * *

For the first time ever in his life, Troy regretted getting drunk.

Because that was what it had been. A big fucking alcohol-induced lapse in judgment. What had he been thinking, barging through the throng of people to where that creep had his hands all over her and snatching her away from his side like some kind of jealous fucking _boyfriend_? Granted, that idiot had it coming, but that wasn't the point. She could have fucking humped that manwhore dry and caught syphilis or whatever and he could've cared less. He didn't have any right to go poking into whatever she chose to do with whoever, and that was that.

And yet he'd pushed through people carelessly and pulled to a stop beside her, his head throbbing with something fuzzy and insistent. He'd snapped at that asshole and told him to go away, and he's bossed her around. He had to give it to her for swearing at him and calling him out on it, but he couldn't bear to think about how he'd actually attempted to fucking _justify_ his little knight in shining armour act. Yeah. How fucking dumb could he be?

Fucking _hell_.

(He should've let her drown in the lake that day. Or maybe he should've saved her and deposited her to a faraway... place while she was unconscious and never looked back. But he didn't.)

And then she'd pushed the right buttons and gotten under his skin, and he'd retaliated eagerly in a manner he'd hoped would rile her up to no end. Instead, his gaze had somehow ended up locked onto her lips, soft and enticing in the dreadful club light and moulding themselves ever so sluggishly around tipsy syllables...

He'd lost it.

He'd fucking _lost it and kissed her._

And it felt like drowning. Like he was being snatched away from air, from every feeling he'd familiarized himself with, into deep folds of an endless abyss. Into something infinitely new and scary. His lungs burned and his breath rattled in his ears. His shaking digits anchored themselves in her hair. His senses inhaled her scent in like a cherished last breath, holding it inside till his vision blurred. Her skin was soft and flowing, like water, was all he could feel around him. And how his heart had hammered.

Troy Bolton drowned when he kissed Gabriella Montez. And there was nothing he could do to save himself.

But then the silence had whooshed through his mind and smothered the hammering of his chest. And it had taken him his last ounce of self-control to wrench himself away from his doom and break the surface. He couldn't drown. He _wouldn't _drown. He wouldn't be made victim in the hands of this small, insignificant girl _just because_.

So he pushed her away and watched as she made her way out of the water and saved both of them.

He hoped it would stay that way.

* * *

By the time Gabriella came out of her room, showered and changed, Taylor was seated in her couch in the living room, typing away at her laptop. Sharpay was draped across the yellow couch, face-down, her intermittent groaning puncturing the silence ever so often.

She rolled her eyes and took out the milk carton, moving over to grab a bowl.

"How was bowling?" she said, pouring milk into the bowl and then a fistful of corn flakes. She grabbed a spoon and made a beeline for the only unoccupied couch in the living room.

Sharpay flailed her arms a little and shifted so that she could speak without muffling her words into the couch. "_How_ _was_ _bowling_ she says," she snapped.

Taylor didn't raise her eyes from her laptop screen. "Good, yeah," she said mildly. "You?"

"Oh I'm so glad you asked," Sharpay bit out sarcastically before Gabriella could respond. "This bitch over hear almost humped her man and then didn't."

That seemed to have piqued Taylor's interest. She looked up with an irritated frown, staring at Sharpay like she'd said something unintelligible. Which she had. "Huh?"

"She's drunk," Gabriella said flatly. She indulged lazily in her midnight snack, skimming it with her spoon. She didn't have energy for this.

"Unlike you, _I_ actually know how to handle my booze and usually retain my senses enough to know what I'm talking about."

The brunette gazed at her evenly over her bowl of corn flakes.

"I'll humour you."

"What are you two talking about?" Taylor head butted her way into the conversation. She sounded mildly irritated.

That was putting it lightly.

Apparently, bowling had been just as kind on her as Gabriella's latest experience in nightlife had been to Gabriella.

Not much.

Sharpay had finally sat up, getting into her warrior mode. Gabriella sensed a headache coming, but decided to ignore it.

"Fine." She leaned forward and placed her half-eaten bowl on the table and faked a cheery enthusiasm. "Let's hear what Sharpay has to say."

Both of them looked questioningly towards the blonde.

Sharpay rolled her eyes.

"Troy Bolton was there."

Taylor put aside her laptop, signaling her silently to go on.

The blonde looked from one to the other, bored. Both faces were similar in that they looked rather impassive.

She sighed, a drawn-out, dramatic sound. "They _kissed."_

Intrigue flickered onto one face while the other remained impassive.

"Gabi and Troy?" Taylor asked.

"Duh," she said. Gabriella watched as the blonde got steadily more animated, now that she'd successfully ensnared half of her audience into her stupid... mind game. Or whatever the hell it was. Which wasn't saying much as it consisted of only one person. "It was a full-fledged make-out session, and I totally thought I'd be coming home alone tonight, but then Gabriella decided to fuck it up."

Gabriella's jaw dropped in silent outrage.

The African-American girl shifted her focus to the brunette, interested.

"_Excuse_ me?" Gabriella spluttered.

"You're excused," Sharpay said mildly. "Although it's kinda your own loss. Ah. But you're excused. Now—"

"Hold on," Gabriella cut in, huffing and crossing her arms. "_I_ fucked it up? What do _you_ know?"

The bitterness in her tone wasn't lost upon any of the occupants of the living room.

"I was within hearing distance from where you were wrapped up in each other; it was kind of hard to miss."

"You're stupid," the brunette said flatly. "It wasn't like that."

Sharpay swept her arms in an exaggerated gesture, raising her eyebrows skeptically. Gabriella thought the girl still had too much useless energy to be considered properly drunk. It was kind of admirable. "Then enlighten us."

"It was him. He was a jerk and said he didn't _feel_ anything! And why should he, it was a meaningless drunken kiss."

Even to her own ears, Gabriella sounded pathetic.

"Um," Taylor cut in placidly, "did he say that?"

"No. He sort of... implied it, I guess."

Sharpay rolled her eyes grandly and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "It's still your fault! I say you should've banged him, rocked his world and maybe then he wouldn't had sprung all this 'not feel anything' shit on you!"

"Sharpay," her dark-haired friend says, coming to Gabriella's aid, "shut up. You're too drunk to be giving advice."

"In yo' faces, hoes."

They both reacted rather aptly by rolling their eyes.

"Yes, Sharpay, I would've done that," Gabriella finally said. "Except Troy Bolton is a douche and I don't want him."

"Are you kidding me."

Even Taylor looked skeptic of Gabriella's words.

"Ha ha."

"You shoulda seen yourself, that was some very desperate tonsil hockey."

"Please stop being so gross."

"You're _so_ full of shit."

"Okay," the brunette concedes, peeking a glance at a very scrutinizing Taylor. "Maybe it was nice. But only a little."

"You were meowing."

"Was _not_!" she cried, scandalized.

"And pawing." Sharpay yawned.

"You know what, that is _such_ bullshit," Gabriella said, leaning back calmly. She inhaled slowly through her nose. She would not throw her spoon at Sharpay's head, _she would not throw her spoon at Sharpay's head._

"Maybe," the blonde allowed. "But the point is. You should've done him. Then you could've slept peacefully tonight knowing everything was alive and well downstairs with the man of your dreams. And if not, you could've wiped your hands clean of the whole thing and moved on to better and... more alive men."

Ha, Gabriella wanted to exclaim. Everything was _perfectly _alive downstairs; the problem lay with the clogs of his head. If only she could voice that thought without slashing away every claim she'd made so far in this conversation.

Instead she reined her thoughts to safer territories and forced herself to stay indifferent. "That's a stupid analogy." She looked at Taylor for support. "Isn't it, Tay?"

Taylor rolled her eyes.

"Semantics," Sharpay said sagely.

"Not to mention, it's none of our business to talk about... _it_."

Wise and worn girl that Sharpay was, she graced them both with a magnificent eye roll and got up unsteadily.

"My best friends are _nuns."_

* * *

**There you go. Not much but... ehn. Thoughts? And oh, if you have _any _ideas that you think might make this a better story, please please don't hesitate to share. I've been withdrawn from fanfiction for a long time, and I'd love a fresher approach to things. So help, please! :D**

Thank you muchly, my lovelies. ;)


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